settled around her waist, holding her firmly against him. She cleared her throat. "Is that Italian?"
"Yes."
"You're from Italy, then?" She was babbling, but she couldn't think clearly, not with his arms around her, not with his breath feathering against her cheek. He smelled of the wind, of musky male sweat, of the night itself.
"Near Vallelunga."
"Never heard of it."
She shifted in his grasp, as though testing the strength of his hold, and he let his arms fall to his sides, though his body was still pressed intimately against hers.
Gabriel held his breath, waiting. He could feel her indecision, knew that she was as aware of the charged atmosphere between them as he was. She wanted him. And he wanted her, wanted her with every fiber of his being.
Sarah worried her lower lip with her teeth, wishing his arms were still holding her because now she had to make the decision whether to remain with her back resting against his chest, or to move away.
Prudence urged her to break all contact with this strange man, to run out the gate and never look back, but every feminine instinct begged her to stay where she was, to rest her head against his shoulder, to let him wrap his arms around her once more and hold her tight.
And then he made the decision for her. Gently but firmly, he gave her a little push.
"Go home, Sarah," he said, his voice harsh, taut with an emotion she did not understand. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a twenty-dollar bill, which he pressed into her hand. "Get a cab and go home while you still can."
"But..."
His eyes burned into hers. "Stay away from the park, Sarah," he whispered savagely. "Stay away from me!"
She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes filled with confusion, and then she turned and ran for the garden gate.
He stood in the moonlight long after she had gone. On this night, he did not worry about her getting safely home. It was not yet late, and she was in far more danger from him than from anyone else she might encounter.
Hands clenched, his body rigid, he closed his eyes while the lust for blood roared through him. He grimaced as his fangs lengthened in anticipation of the hunt.
Sarah...
He knew why she had come to him tonight even if she refused to admit it.
Unbidden to his mind came the memory of Sarah crushed against him, her back pressed to his chest, her buttocks cradled by his thighs. The beating of her heart had sounded like thunder in his ears. Even now, he felt his desire stir to life as he remembered the scent of her blood, the heat of her living flesh.
"Stay away from the park, Sarah," he murmured, repeating the words he'd spoken earlier. "Stay away from me."
But this time the words were a plea, not a warning.
PART Two Chapter Four
She had the cab drop her off at the corner market on the way home. For the first time in months, she had an appetite, not for what her mother had called "real food," but to fill a sudden, unaccountable craving for Oreo cookies.
At home, she went into the kitchen and poured a tall glass of milk, then sat down at the table and opened the package, knowing she'd regret her lack of willpower the next time she stepped on a scale.
Relishing every bite, she polished off half the package, drained the glass, and then walked through the house, turning on the lights, the TV.
She dusted the furniture and vacuumed the rugs, cleaned out the refrigerator, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she threw away an unidentified blob of something hard and brown. She scrubbed the kitchen sink, the bathroom sink and the tub, emptied the trash.
But she didn't go into the nursery. She couldn't face that room, shied away from the knowledge that, sooner or later, she'd have to take down the crib, pack Natalie's clothes in boxes, and admit that she was never coming back.
It was near midnight when Sarah treated herself to a long hot bubble bath. She closed her eyes, and into her mind came the memory of a spacious bathroom and a pale pink tub.
She would not think of him, or the room he professed had been decorated solely for her.
Wrapped in a towel, she stared at the velvet dressing gown she had tossed over a chair, vacillating between folding it up and shoving it in a drawer, or putting it on. Finally, with